


Come Into My Parlor

by Bluandorange, ravenously



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Snowpiercer (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Body Horror, Brainwashing, Dubious Consent, Elemental Magic, Kinda???????? Just, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Plant Baeeeeeee, Plants, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:37:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/pseuds/Bluandorange, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony destroyed a strange creature that was responsible for disappearances a year ago. It's been quiet, until now- disappearances have begun to sprout up again, a bigger and increasing rate. So clearly something has to be done. It's just that once he arrives to the island, he doesn't exactly want to leave...</p><p>Mother Nature's Son has taken in a hurt man that he knows as 'Winter's Soldier', keeping him kept as a pet. Maybe this Tony Stark man would be a beautiful addition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Into My Parlor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,  
>  'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;  
>  The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,  
>  And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there.”
> 
> “Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,  
>  For who goes up your winding stair  
>  -can ne'er come down again.”

Tony gears the plane downwards, towards the island and lets out a soft sigh that comes across as static over the comms. He’d really actually rather  _not_ come back here, in all honesty, would definitely prefer to pretend that this whole debacle never fucking happened. It’s hard to explain to  _himself,_  let alone others. And having to come back because more activity, more disappearances? Not cool. Not cool at all that Iron Man can’t kill one stupid plant thing.

It’s easy enough to land just inwards from the beach, where the sand is a little harder and turning to soil. Easy to get out. Not easy to stare up at the dense, thrumming forest and know there’s a possibility of  _all that fucking plant matter_ getting up and trying to kill him somehow. But he’s gotta, there’s disappearances and energy from this island and even Thor made it clear that something weird was happening.

But he’s not going into the forest human, no thanks, he’ll be covered in a robotic suit, thank you very much. Once he gets everything on, he takes a moment, then starts into the forest. Trying to stay closer to the areas that aren’t as dense, aren’t as terrifying and who knew plants were terrifying?

\--

It’s not hard to sense the human coming--the air changes, becomes choked with chemicals and he touches the ground until the engines die, fortifies all he can from wilting away from the smoke. He still doesn’t understand why human machines belch such awful gasses, he doesn’t understand why this human’s machine in particular is so familiar to him.

Old growth, perhaps. Yes, he knows it is true the further the human moves into his forest. His armor is familiar. His armor destroyed his old body.

That’s alright. His old body was sick and dying and so very lonely. He promises himself he will not begrudge his visitor for trimming him, for pruning something that desperately needed to be removed for the betterment of his forest.

He’s learned that humans are capable of such beauty, after all.

The armored human, red and gold like a particularly proud and poisonous flower, is welcome. He is guided gently in the Son’s direction, so they can meet.

He goes to his own human, his own little unique fleshy flower, and strokes his hair as he tells him they will have a visitor soon. It’s been a month now since he’d saved this human, given him home and comfort and helped him blossom from the dredges his own kind had left him with. He’s not sure why this one caught his attention when the others simply became food for his forest. Perhaps he simply recognized the potential for  _growth_.

And something  _had_ to be done about that arm.

It wasn’t unlike the armor protecting their visitor, but it was poorly attached and caused his pet such physical distress. Removing it had been its own trial, but he knows patience, and his darling was saved the pain of it. Now his body must heal and to aid it, the Son has interwoven seeds of his own. He, above all else, wishes to promote healthy growth.

He wants his guest to see. He wants to know what he thinks of the changes, of the Son and the Old Growth one might call his Father.

\--

The pathways are almost _too_ perfect for him to walk along. It should be dense with plants on all sides, crowded. He should have to incinerate some of them just to keep walking. And yet. And yet everything is perfect, letting him walk along like it was  _groomed_ to have a path moving through the center of the forest.

His sensors tell him the disturbance is almost on the center of the island. The energy leaking along the entire forest is concentrated there, which means the plant son of a bitch, if it’s still alive, must be there. And if it’s the reason people have gone missing then. They’re probably with it.

Tony brushes a few viney branches out of the way and continues on, noticing the density is just getting worse and worse, thicker and thicker, yet still giving him a path and he’s not an  _idiot,_  he knows the freak here can make plants do stuff, so maybe the thing is leading him to it. Hopefully. Even if it wants to mess with him, at least it means he doesn’t have to wander in the middle of the forest for fucking hours, trying to find a needle in a haystack.

And then the density cuts the fuck out, and there’s a clearing so sudden that he all but trips when he steps into open sunlight, so used to the crunching of undergrowth beneath his feet. A couple of the joints creak as he rights himself from tripping all the way down, and then he’s looking around and-

 _Fuck_ , but at least he wasn’t wrong. Though he wished he would have been. The plant freak looks so much different and there’s a  _person_ and. “Shit.”

\--

“Welcome,” the Son says, a smile curling his petal lips upwards with only a hint of the thorn teeth beyond. He’s never formally introduced himself to someone before. He rather likes the idea of it. He steps towards the armored man, leaving his pet to sit on the bed of comfortable fungi he’d grown for him. “I am Mother Nature’s son. What is your name?”

\--

“....Well alright then, Paul McCartney.” He replies and takes another step forward, just to keep his footing flat on the clearing. He flicks his eyes over to the other human, the one that looks fucked up and out of it, who hasn’t even  _looked_  in his direction since he came here. His arm is a mess and Tony doesn’t even want to look at that. Not at all.

“...I’m Tony.” How the fuck does he even respond to this? He should have brought someone else with him.

\--

“Its nice to meet you, Tony,” the Son says. “Its nice to meet another human. Winter doesn’t talk much--” he motions back toward his pet to clarify, “he’s still healing. Without my help, my plants, he would be in a considerable amount of pain, but with them he’s not exactly coherent. It will be interesting, getting a chance to talk to you.”

\--

“...Right. He’s healing. From what? You know he’s considered missing, right? And that your weird new age healing is nothing compared to an actual hospital?” Because seriously, this kid looks out of it to the max and his arm looks like it’s fucking festering and growing shit on it and- that is just disgusting.

\--

The Son’s smile now shows its thorns. “I doubt a simple human hospital could have helped him.”

A few feet away the ground shifts, churns, until the horrid metal amalgamation of an arm Winter was saddled with is entirely unearthed. His vines throw the thing at Tony’s feet.

“It was attached to him without his consent. His body is special; it continued to reject it over and over. Besides that, it was simply too  _heavy._  His body was a  _mess_ trying to compensate for its weight. He told me he no longer felt the pain but knew this thing was a weapon. He told me he was once Winter’s soldier. He said he wished to be  _anything else_.” The Son’s voice had gotten harder, sharper, the more he spoke. He catches himself now, sighs, schools himself into a more gentle tone. “I only wish to help him. He will be born anew. Its what he wants, it’s...something I can admire.”

\--

“Looks to me like he can’t really consent to you helping him.” Tony comments. He frowns down at the arm, lets the faceplate come up so he can get a better look at it. “And the others? There’s been several disappearances.” Okay so he’s stalling until he figures out a way to help the man  _and_ fuck with the plant thing.

\--

“They, unfortunately, were killed for trespassing.” There’s no use denying it. “They became fertilizer. Its how my predecessor did things and...I’m afraid I let his remnants have too much effect on me. But he would not have helped Winter. You know that, though. You met him.” His curiosity is clear, he’s truly too young to hide it.

\--

Tony stifles a sigh. “No, he wouldn’t have. But you-” Fuck. Right. He takes a few more steps forward, lets the faceplate fall back down. “You killed other people, even if you’re trying to help this one. You realize I can’t let that happen, right?” This guy seems a little less crazy than the previous plant monster thing, but still. Even if he can’t be reasoned with, looks like Tony’s gonna have to blow him to bits.

\--

“I don’t plan to do it again,” says the Son, but of course Tony’s posture is easy to read, as is his choice to lower his mask. “We’ve no reason to fight, Tony. You should realize by now you can’t kill me. Someone else will take my place and they are just as likely to make the mistakes I’ve made. More lives will be lost. You cannot kill Mother Nature’s only Son, its not possible.”

The Old Growth had said something similar, of course, but he likely did it in some haughty fashion easily dismissed as delusions of grandeur. But it is true. Even if Tony some how managed to destroy his core, his ever blooming flower heart, the Son is pretty sure his Mother would just give birth to some new being. Perhaps a daughter this time around.

\--

“Right. But you can’t go around killing people, and I’m pretty sure I can stop you for some time.” Because, no, he really doesn’t want to fight this thing, not if it’s just going to appear again. He’d definitely like to appeal to this thing. “His arm is festering. He needs  _medical attention_ , and your weird little vines aren’t going to help that, y’know.”

\--

The Son regards his pet, his Winter, and the arm in question. He’ll admit he finds the green of his flesh appealing, the sweat he is almost perpetually soaked in a beautiful addition to his body, like drops of dew…

“He just needs more time. And I don’t know yet if I can trust you.” He levels his gaze to Tony. “You have my word I will not harm any other humans, but Winter is mine now. You and I cannot be friends if you don’t accept this.”

\--

“You can’t _own_  Winter.” Tony says, and gives him a Look, even though the plant monster won’t be able to see it. “He- He’ll probably die if he doesn’t get help. You realize that, right? His arm will rot and it’ll move to the rest of his body. I’m pretty sure. Look, I’m not a doctor, but neither are you, and you’re n _ot human_.” The Son Can’t understand the fine-tunings of the human body. He just. Can’t. He doesn’t wanna be friends with this tool, anyways.

\--

“He doesn’t  _want_ a doctor,” the Son says. “This is what he wants. If you’re truly worried for him and not just picking a fight, believe me when I tell you I will not let him die. I’ll seek assistance if I’m in need of it. For now,” he turns from Tony and crosses back to Winter’s bedside. He brushes his pet’s hair away from his wet cheeks, fever hot and beautiful. “For now, we’ll proceed as we discussed. He and I.”

\--

The Pet mindlessly pushes into whatever touches he’s given. Even if he’s hot and feverish, even if every movement is fire on his skin, pressing into the plant being’s body is something mindless, something necessary.

Tony watches, frowns behind the mask and lets it pop up again. If only so he can get the full image of this fuckery. “You discussed this. Looking at him? I highly doubt you discussed this. Look, I’m going to get him to a hospital. Just- Help me get him there. You clearly know how to move him better than I do, and this will  _help_  him. He’s clearly  _dying_.”

\--

The Son sighs, crystal-blue eyes slipping shut as he tries to bury his aggravation. Tony is insistent and while his heart is in the right place, he clearly has no intention of seeing  _their_  side of things. He refuses to understand. The Son does not wish to fight. The Old Growth would be throwing its weight around right now, driving its point home like a stake into the earth. He will not be like he once was.

He opens his eyes to Winter and finds the calm he craved simply observing his beauty. He must be protected and preserved and cared for.

“Tell me, have you come a long way?” The Son addresses Tony as he crosses behind Winter’s bedding to pluck a sweet tangerine--easily mistaken for an orange, it is so healthy, so large and appetizing--from the near tree. “You must be hungry.” He begins to peel the fruit with one claw, juice spraying from even the lightest touch, filling the air with an enticing citrus aroma. The fruit is engorged. A perfect meal for his pet.

He peels and peels until he can remove a slice of plant flesh from beyond the protective rind. The Son then turns to his pet and murmurs to him, coaxing his mouth open with sticky bark-fingers before placing one half of the slice inside. He closes Winter’s jaw for him and tells him gently to chew, to swallow, that’s his boy.

\--

The Pet feels so soft at the moment, his mind a haze and fog of sweet-filled aromas and soft organics molding around his body to keep him comfortable. The bone-deep ache from his new arm is still there, always there, but it’s always so much easier to deal with that sort of pain when he takes the medicine his Savior (Handler? Commander? Master?) gives him.  And though this isn’t medicine, just food, it’s so good, so appetizing, and the Savior makes it so easy for him, helps him chew and swallow, does every task for him.

He’s so used to doing tasks that They tell him, horrible tasks washed in blood and gore, and though his arm looks like one of the scenes he himself has conducted before, he doesn’t have to worry anymore. Not only is it difficult to move, to do anything but lay against the soft bed of moss and fungus, but the Son has made it clear that he does not need to anymore. All his needs will be taken care of, he can rest and heal, and get better without worrying about anything. Something deep inside Winter knows that he should not, can not listen to this being, but it’s- he helps so much. It’s so much easier to listen and love than to hate and to suffer.

Even with the Son helping him, it’s hard to stay coordinated enough to command his brain to open his mouth, to chew or move or do anything but sit there and relish in the daze he’s been for lord knows how long. But the Son helps, always helps, and he can’t help the dazed little smile that pulls and tugs at his lips when he’s finished swallowing the slice that he’s been given.

Tony watches all of this and raises an eyebrow, tries not to look uncomfortable and disgusted. “I’m fine. You can keep your fruit.” It doesn’t matter how far he’s travelled- perhaps to a plant being who has only ever known this island it’s a long way, but to Tony it’s nothing. Not with jets.

\--

He feeds Winter the second half and tries to think of the tiny seeds taking up residence in Winter’s stomach, helping him change from the inside out. Helping him grow. He thinks of this instead of Tony’s dismissive tone or rude expression.

“I would like to break bread with you, Tony, but I have no bread to break. I only have what grows in my garden.”

Words seem to mean so little to the man so the Son reluctantly resorts to other tactics. Humans--all animals really--are so susceptible to scent. He still hasn’t reasoned why, but perhaps Tony will tell him, with a little aromatic persuasion.

Flowers downwind from his guest open, letting their pollen and scent waft his direction. They should give him a sense of calm, of trust and even hunger. Fruit is made to be eaten, so that the seeds therein can be spread and fertilized by the digestive processes of more mobile beasts. It is easy to coax and supplement the attributes Mother Nature has already provided. Such is his talent, as her one true Son.

\--

Maybe Jarvis would have told him, if the faceplate had been down, if he’d be able to recognize the pollen and scents coming in. But it’s such a foreign, such a miniscule thing, especially in a forest full of flowers and their smells, that he doesn’t. Doesn’t warn Tony, and doesn’t tell Tony to put the faceplate back down.

“I’m really not interested in eating with you. Look, so long as I can get this Winter kid to safety, I’m willing to get the hell out of dodge as fast as fucking possible.” He blinks a couple times, steps forwards. There’s- Something. There’s something here and he wants to leave fucking now, but he really doesn’t, all at once. He blinks again.

He’s starving, but there’s food on the jet, and as much as he’d love to play tea party with a madman, he really needs to help the kid and leave. It’s hard to think, though, and he stands there for a moment, just watching.

\--

"You're afraid of me," the Son says, the realization saddening him beyond words. "You fear for Winter but you also fear for yourself. Tony." He says his name gently, with warmth. "I will not hurt you. I promise, you are safe. I'm not my predecessor. How long ago did you kill him? I'm only that old. I want to know you." He takes a step closer, offering him the fruit. "Stay, will you? Please? Teach me and let me care for your needs while you satisfy my curiosity."

\--

Tony doesn’t realize, at first, that he’s reaching a metal hand forward to take the fruit. And then he’s taking a step back and making a surprised noise deep in his throat, trying to make the fog of his head clear. He’d- the thought of eating, of staying and sitting and being near this  _freak_  sounded so appetizing,  _sounds_  appetizing and he- He doesn’t fucking get this. Not at all. Maybe it’s something- It’s gotta be something in the air.

He takes a deep breath and lets the faceplate slam down again, but it doesn’t really matter, not really. He let the fog of pollen and pheromones wash over him for maybe three minutes now, and it just needs to settle in his lungs, in his mind. Like a drug. He tries to take another step and another step back, but his mind wants him to move  _forward_ , towards the Son. Towards the fruit and his warm embrace and his promise of relaxation and comfort. He makes another sound of annoyance, spits “What the  _fuck_  is going  _on_.”

Jarvis, of course, is oh-so helpful, with the thoughtful explanation that  _It appears that some form of mind-altering substance has entered your body, sir._  It doesn’t even  _matter_ , because it’s hard to move at all, let alone move  _away_  from the Son.

\--

The Son sighs, dropping his arms. “Would you at least tell me what I’ve done to deserve all this?” He motions to Tony, “the armor, the distrust, the cursing? Am I really so menacing? With my fruit? My scary, scary fruit? Tony.” The  _you’re being ridiculous_  is left unsaid but is so clearly in his tone.

A part of him winces when he realizes the Old Growth has slipped somewhat into his voice, into his phrasing. The chastising manner of it, but he swallows the truth and carries on. Tony has only earned it by being so  _ridiculous._  The Son is allowed his exasperation with these theatrics.

\--

“Y-You admitted to  _killing_ people.” Tony huffs out, and shakes his head, trying trying  _trying_  to clear away the fog. It’s not working, and it’s getting worse. He wants to step forward, wants to strip apart the armor and lay down beside Winter, wants to eat and nap and do anything but stand here pretending to be Iron Man.

\--

“And I said what I did was  _wrong_. I regret those deaths. I didn’t understand, then, the importance of human life. I only understand a little more, now. You could help me understand  _more._ ” As he speaks, he steps closer and closer, one hand coming up to touch the thin line were the two slabs of metal meet, the line that he imagines Tony’s mouth to be behind. “I don’t want to kill anyone else. I want to help. I can’t do that  _alone._ ”

\--

“Your idea of helping is hurting  _him._ ” Tony murmurs, but it’s weak even to his own ears. He doesn’t pull away from the Son, does nothing but stand there, wide-eyed behind the faceplate, lips slightly parted. He doesn’t- It’s getting harder to even protest, because each of the Son’s words are so strong, so _good._  So trustworthy. He doesn’t mean to lean forward, but he does.

\--

“Tony, you’ve looked at him twice. You can’t even see what I have working on the inside.” He strokes the faceplate, the curve of his cheek, imagines skin hot and warm and pliant. The bristle of his facial hair. He wonders if it grows in that formation or if Tony trims it to be such. Prunes the fur on his face into something more aesthetically pleasing. Imagines Tony as his own gardener, Tony’s body the garden in question and what, what, what he does to preserve it. He has so many questions. “He is in pain, parts of his body are rotting and dying, but they will regrow healthier than before. He will be  _fine._  I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I want to talk about  _you._ ”

\--

It should feel wrong, to just listen to the plant creature and naturally move along the conversation. Saving Winter, getting this kid to safety is- It should be important but. But the Son is so  _convincing,_  he really is. It’s hard, so hard to concentrate, and all that comes out is, “What about me?” He needs to- Needs to leave but he won’t. He knows now, that he won’t be leaving. It’s not likely, especially if the Son has him remove his armor, keeps him under the influence of whatever that fucking pollen was. And he’ll listen, he can feel his body and mind wanting to listen, to work with the Son, rather than against him.

\--

The Son smiles and its so gentle, so  _proud_. “Anything. I want to know anything you have to say. But, please, is all this necessary? For a chat?” He taps the faceplate and then runs his hand down the metal neck over the metal collarbone and to the rise of his metal chest. “Do you really need this to feel safe around me?”

\--

Tony sighs and the faceplate pops up. He looks troubled, so so troubled, and he murmurs, “I’m supposed to- I’m not supposed to-” he cuts himself off and swallows, moving his gaze from the ground to the eyes, feeling himself want to listen, to listen and take it off and be comfortable and- “I’m supposed to stay in it. It’s safe. It-” He knows he sounds juvenile, but it’s hard to think.

\--

“If you’re sure you need it,” but oh the Son sounds so disappointed. He does offer him the fruit again. “So long as you feel comfortable staying.”

\--

“I can stay for a bit.” He mumbles and absently takes the fruit. Doesn’t eat it yet, just holds it, still trying to force his mind to run up to speed. It’s so difficult, so hard to keep control, and after a while he loses focus for just a moment, and the fog takes over, washes over even that last bit of resistance. It’s an obvious change- his shoulders slump with a metallic sound, and his face looks so much more peaceful. He’s comfortable here, he’s comfortable and it’s okay, he’s safe, he really is.

\--

The Son smiles, so relieved, and touches Tony’s face with obvious affection. “Thank you,” he says, then drops his hand to take Tony’s. “Come, I’d rather we talked elsewhere. Winter needs his rest.”

He guides the man under arching trees, through a beautiful path lined with flowers of many complimenting varieties. When the canopy opens again, the clearing it reveals is mostly taken up by a mossy, rounded pool, fed at one end by a waterfall and draining out the other into a stream that courses through the rest of his island. The pool is perfect for bathing--clear and softly lined with moss to make lying for long periods comfortable. Winter spends some time each day in the pool. Now, it’s Tony who is guided to its edge.

“Why don’t I clean you, as we talk?” asks the Son. “Your armor will be taken care of. I promise I won’t misplace it or anything like that.”

\--

He doesn’t exactly need to be  _cleaned_ but. But the thought of laying down is so enticing, so wonderful, that he commands the armor to let him out, and metal plates being to retract and move away, leaving a space big enough for him to climb out and step on the ground in just shoes, not in his metal armor. He lets out a soft sigh when he’s able to get fresh air hitting the rest of his body. Jarvis had issued warnings, had been trying to get Tony to respond to him, but it’s meaningless, all his words are meaningless and he’d rather listen to the Son. It’s easier. Softer. Better.

He steps away from the armor and the plates move to close back up, to create the illusion of a sentry keeping guard at the edge of the clearing, but of course it’s empty, beyond the words from Jarvis that Tony ignores. He takes out the small comm in his ear and lets it fall to the earth, works on taking off his shoes and other extremities. “Yeah, don’t. I’d have to send you a bill for a few million dollars, if you lost it.” Easier to talk now, now that he’s letting himself give in to the feeling of talking to the Son, caring for the Son only.

\--

Curious, the Son bends and retrieves the small bud Tony extracted from his own ear. “I would be in trouble then, considering I don’t have any human money. What is this?” He shows Tony the little thing, carefully cradled in the palm of his leaf and bark hand.

\--

“Comm. Let’s Jarvis talk to me. He’s being annoying, so…” He shrugs, and really, he’s not interesting in talking about Jarvis. Well, unless he’s supposed to.

\--

“And who is Jarvis?” he asks, as he raises the ‘comm’ to his own ear to listen.

\--

“My AI. Uh. Artificial Intelligence.” He doesn’t know how much the Son knows about technology, if at all. Best to expand all abbreviations. “He’s- He helps out. Can control some of my suits, controls my house, practically…” He shrugs again.

\--

 _“Artificial_ Intelligence.” What an interesting concept. “Hello? Jarvis, are you there?” The Son has such a pleased smile on his face--this is so interesting! Tony is so marvelous and interesting!

\--

There’s silence for a few moments, and then a hesitant, “ _...Please return the comm link to Mr. Stark._ ” The voice is clipped and almost  _uncomfortable_  sounding, with just a tinge of angry suspicion rising through the artificial voice. A voice that sounds far more natural than anything.

\--

“Mr. Stark? Oh, is that Tony?” He turns and offers the comm to Tony again. “Jarvis seems to think you need this back.”

\--

“...I don’t want it. He’s been yelling at me for a half hour. Wants me to go home.” Tony refuses to take it back, and yes, it’s childish, but the fog in his mind is telling him that that’s an okay reaction right now. He doesn’t  _need_  to go back home.

\--

“Oh. Well, I’ll leave it here.” The Son gently places the comm link on a leaf growing near Tony’s armor. The leaf curls, cradling it gently. “Now.” He claps his hands together and turns his focus to Tony and oh. “You are beautiful.” He’s so happy right now, several of the flowers on his coat have bloomed and more keep growing.

\--

Tony wants to say  _sure, ‘course I am_ , or something like that, but the sheer honesty of the Son’s voice renders his voice unusable for a moment, makes his throat dry up and his face to get red, for just a moment. He focuses instead on the curling flowers blooming from the Son’s body, shrugging.

\--

The Son’s face continues to brighten and he steps closer to touch his cheek, cupping it as delicately as he would the most fragile of flowers. Oh, but the heat he gives off. How extraordinary. “What does this mean? This change in color? It’s so attractive.”

\--

“The change in-” He frowns and then ducks his head when he figures out what he means. If he weren’t dazed, he’d step the fuck away, try to fucking leave because that is  _embarrassing_. “It’s- Uh. Blushing. Do you not…? It happens. It just happens.”

\--

“What’s it mean? It must happen for a reason. Your body is trying to tell me something.”

\--

“It. Jesus.” Tony leans forward a little, stifling another embarrassed groan as his face just gets redder, as more heat colors his cheeks. “It means I’m embarrassed. Stuff like that. Fuck.”

\--

“And why are you embarrassed?” he asks, gently. He strokes his cheek, over the rise of color, so stark against the dark facial hair Tony’s grown. “Don’t be shy, I would never judge you. You’re beautiful and foreign to me. Rare. Please don’t be shy.”

\--

“Shit, it’s that stuff.” He ducks away finally, the praise, the compliments and tenderness too much for him even in this state. He’s not used to- This is impossible to take. “The- Do you really mean all that stuff?” He’d never say this. He’d never ask about this, he’d deflect and move on and fucking leave and go work and sweat in the lab for hours afterwards. Tony is not used to genuine praise like this.

\--

“Of course.” He gives a slow blink, the eyebrows fashioned from fern leaves curling with concern. “Why would I lie? I only wish to be honest with you, recieve your honesty in return. That’s how it works best, don’t you think? Kindness should beget kindness.”

\--

“Jus’- Yeah. Yeah, forget about it, ignore it. The- The color. Ignore it.” He shakes his head and wills his face to stop being so fucking  _overheated._  Too much of that movement leaves him woozy and he sways where he stands, blinking into space for a moment. Too much, this is all too much and the pollen in his system really isn’t helping. Or maybe it is.

\--

The Son takes him by the waist, easily supporting his weight. “Alright, then. Forgive me for pushing. I let my curiosity get away with me. Your comfort should be paramount.” This is when he begins to undress him, pulling the shirt up by the hem.

\--

Whatever is coursing through his head is so strange, because he can feel the need, the want to deflect, to give some giveaway sarcastic quip and dance away. It’s there, hovering right at the surface, but it’s even easier, for once in his life, to just go with the flow of the other person. And this one is so close, so intimate, is  _taking his clothes off_ , and that should be ridiculous but- It’s just. It feels nice. It feels okay to be doted on so heavily, and he trusts, trusts the Son for reasons he doesn’t understand, anymore. He stands there and lets himself be maneuvered, lets the Son do as he wishes as he blinks heavily and watches him.

\--

It takes him a few minutes to relieve Tony of every article of clothing. When he’s done, he steps back and runs his eyes across him from feet upward, admiring the lines of his form and the colors of his flesh. His muscles--compact and lined with complimenting and protective layers of fatty tissue--move beneath his skin as he breathes. He is flesh and blood and yet so different from Winter. The Son can’t help but compare the two of them--Winter with his asymmetrical abdominal muscles that bunch up against one another like seeds in a pod, about ready to burst from beneath the thin layer of skin, no fat to be found. All fat burned away. Tony’s chest is more symmetrical and so very  _soft_ by comparison. The Son can’t help himself. He traces his fingers gently over the curve of Tony’s chest, down his side and around the apple of his lower cheek. He gives it a testing squeeze and finds it as supple as a ripe peach.

“I know I said it before, but you are  _beautiful._ ”

\--

Even through the fog, he has enough presence of mind to give a surprised yelp at the prodding at his ass, but any response he had ready dies away with another one of those genuine, heartfelt compliments. Sure, sure, he gets compliments. Even from Pepper and people he cares about sometimes, but it’s- It’s always loaded. It always has a history. This has none of that, it’s nothing but truth, condensed into small words that pierce him like bullets.

He moves his eyes away from the strange arms, the botanical hodge-podge of figure and form, moving back up towards the Son’s face. No less odd, still full of strange plant matter that tries to look human, but it works better, it’s easier to pretend that this is normal. “Fuck, you gotta stop-  _Fuck_.” It’s too much.

\--

The Son looks so reluctant to take his hand away, but he does so. He has to respect Tony’s wishes. “Alright, but...you can at least tell me  _why_ , can’t you?” He touches the man’s shoulder, tries to redirect their attention to the pool. “Tell me, while I wash you.”

\--

Tony should be self-conscious here, naked under the scrutiny of this man. He’s hardly naked around anyone, anymore, too ashamed of the ugly scarring around his chest, not wanting to just. Just repeat what he used to do. He doesn’t  _do_  these antics anymore, and he doesn’t get naked for just anyone any longer. But this feels good. Natural. Okay. Comfortable. Even the light breeze isn’t enough to push goosebumps on his skin.

“Tell you what, exactly?” He asks, his speech quiet and soft as he moves to get into the pool, dipping his legs in and shivering, finally, at the cold. Not freezing, but not warm, either. It’ll take some getting used to. He’s not normally such a  _hippie_ , going in random pools, but as with everything the Son has said, it feels Right.

\--

The Son helps guide him and then joins him, half kneeling as he brushes the cool water up and over Tony’s skin. He likes to think--and of course he cannot be certain, he knows so little about humans--that the water absorbed by Tony’s body will bring them closer, just like the water absorbed by his plants. The Son cannot control water, that is not his gift, but he can control what is in it. There are many small, even microscopic parts of him within this water. And everything needs water.

“About yourself,” the Son says, wetting Tony’s back and shoulders, the strange circular ribbon of clotted flesh on his sternum. “About what embarrasses you, and what doesn’t.”

\--

Tony’s eyes flutter at the attention. This is all so odd, but. It’s getting easier and easier to just go with it, move with the flow and the currents of whatever this being wants for him. Still, the comment makes him smirk a little, give a small jerk of his head. “Y’know, that’s generally not something you just  _ask_ about. That would earn you a punch in the face in some areas.”

\--

“Why?” asks the Son, eyes large and earnest, head tilted just slightly. He is so young after all. He’s modelled this body after that of a full grown human man, tall and broad and respectable, but he is so much younger than that. And at once, entirely ancient.

\--

“It’s just…. Presumptuous. Rude. Honestly? Hard to explain, it just is. People, we’re just weird.” He shrugs, fidgets so he’s more comfortable in the basin of water. “It’s… Being embarrassed is a weakness, to most people. So you hide those parts of yourself.”

\--

“What’s weak about being told you’re beautiful? Or am I misunderstanding?” He returns to making sure every inch of Tony has been coated in the streams water, saving the crown of his head for last. He drops a palm full of water on each side of his neck before filling both hands and lifting them above Tony’s head. Some old knowledge comes to him and he is reminded of the human tradition of  _baptism._  

It makes him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All portions done from the The Son's POV is written by Blu. All portions written from Tony or Winter's point of view are written by Ravenously.
> 
> Come find us on Tumblr! [Bluandorange](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com) and [Ravenously](http://buckycurtis.tumblr.com)


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